


Assembly Required

by nobleanchor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Furniture Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:36:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nobleanchor/pseuds/nobleanchor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While awaiting an important call, Arthur and Gwen put their relationship to the test in the land of Swedish meatballs and tiny pencils.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assembly Required

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve taken considerable liberties with IKEA’s layout. Also, this is all rubberglue’s fault. 
> 
> Written (late, per usual) for the Round Table Minutes June "Celebration" prompt.

“I like that one,” Arthur declares. “Write it down.”

“Fine,” she sighs, using the stumpy excuse for a pencil to scribble down the coordinates. “Are you hungry?”

“What are you insinuating?” he scowls. The fact that his hunger is without a doubt making him snappish only annoys him further.

“Nothing, just wondering how far to the canteen.” Gwen squints at the signs ahead, but for all she can tell, they’ll be inching through the maze for another hour before they reach food.

He plunks down on a sofa. “This one.”

She wilts. “You can’t be serious.”

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You’re not a bachelor anymore, Arthur.”

He thumps the taut leather cushion beside him and reluctantly she sits. Her instincts had been right; it's stylish, but dreadfully stiff and unyielding.

“It’s not that bad,” he complains when he sees the face she makes.

“Just because you can fall asleep on anything.”

That makes him grin. “You’ll never forgive me for that, will you?”

“Not when I’ve got to suffer through a twelve hour flight while you snore away at my side.”

“Sorry,” he says, not looking the least bit while he leaned to kiss her cheek. “I really am hungry.”

She can practically see the conveyor belt of Swedish meatballs, apple cake, and whatever else he fancies scrolling through his mind.

“We’ll both do much better on a full tank,” she admits. “But I’m afraid we’ve got the bathroom department before we reach there.”

Arthur drops his head against the back of the sofa with a heavy sigh.

“Come on, you loaf,” she takes his hands and leans back to heave him onto his feet again. “Remember this was supposed to be fun?”

“It was an hour ago. I feel like we’re stuck in a labyrinth and I’ve got to solve a riddle and slay a dragon before the bloody canteen appears.”

Gwen snorts and follows him past the wardrobes toward the bathroom showroom. Furniture shopping had been a better idea than sitting on their thumbs, waiting for an answer. Neither of them is willing to admit how futile it will all be if they have nowhere to _put_ the furniture.

They stall at a living room display, eyeing a storage cabinet that occupies one entire wall.

“Don’t even think about it, if you value your relationship,” a man pauses to warn them. They both look over at the passerby, who trails behind his wife’s trolley. He lowers his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “They call that cabinet _The Divorce Maker_ for a reason.”

“So that’s what LIATORP means,” Arthur jokes after the man disappears around the corner.

They exchange a look and, by unspoken consensus, distance themselves from the suddenly menacing piece of furniture.

*

“I was thinking we could get a tub like this for the spare bathroom.”

Arthur tugs the shower curtain open with a frown. “I think this tub is for children.”

“It is not,” Gwen rolls her eyes, stepping in beside him and pulling the curtain shut. She stares across at him, waving her hands around. “It’s just a display anyway. Look, it fits both of us. You don’t have to duck your head like in my old flat.”

“Never again,” he shudders. His thigh begins to vibrate and Arthur pulls his phone from his pocket; the incessant buzzing bouncing off the tub and faux tiled backsplash.

“Who is it?” Gwen whispers.

Arthur frowns at the flashing screen. “It’s the realtor.”

Their eyes meet; his apprehension mirrors her own.

“Well, answer it?” she suggests.

“Right. Right,” Arthur lifts the phone to his ear and clears his throat. “Nimueh.”

She hears the tinny, feminine voice launching into something, but can’t make out the words. Arthur’s expression is no help.

He steps out of the tub and paces away, grunting affirmations as Nimueh talks his ear off.

Gwen can’t make herself follow. She fiddles with the tag that says FÄRGLAV and bunches the curtain in her hands, peeking at Arthur.

They’d agreed he’d do the talking since it was _his_ name that was meant to open doors and _his_ name that had the current owners of their dream home balking at their bid.

At the moment he doesn’t seem to be doing much talking at all. He’s absently pulling at drawers and opening medicine cabinets. Then he stops to lean against a sink. His forehead is wrinkled, the faint line appearing between his brows.

Gwen can’t bare to look. She leans back against the tile and shrinks down to let the tub cradle her, extending her feet to see if she can fit.

It’s definitely not just for children.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when Arthur tears the curtain back and stares at the tiles in confusion until he looks down and finds her.

“What did she say?” Her voice sounds small. She’s swaddled herself with arms across her chest, bracing for the inevitable disappointment.

He crouches beside the tub. “We got the house.”

“ _What?_ ” Her breath comes out in a whoosh.

Arthur grins and leans over to kiss her.

“Oh my gosh,” she laughs against his mouth. “Are you serious?”

He pulls back just far enough that she can see the light in his eyes, the beginnings of crow's feet crinkling them. “It’s ours, baby.”

A squeak escapes and she flings an arm around his neck, yanking him closer.

Arthur tries to steady himself and laughs between kisses, then tumbles into the tub. It’s not quite big enough for the two of them, but neither of them care.

“It’s ours,” she echoes in a whisper and slips her fingers into his hair, feels his grin against her neck and his knee pushing between hers. The hard plastic is rigid against her back but everything else feels too good. Arthur’s sloppy kisses down her neck make her squirm with delight.

Footsteps shuffle over the concrete floor of the display, and he reaches blindly to tug the curtain back into place, shielding them.

“Arthur,” Gwen giggles. “What are you doing?”

“Celebrating,” he murmurs. A hand closes over one of her breasts and, unthinking, she arches into it.

“We can’t… do this… here.” She needs the reminder just as much as he does. Her hips don’t get the memo, but continue to grind against his thigh. “Someone will see.”

“I don’t care,” he grunts. He’s already hard and straining against his jeans, hitching one of her legs up to press his cock between them. “We have a house.”

She can hear herself panting at the contact and the weight of Arthur pressing into her. 

At the sound of approaching voices, she shoves him aside, scrambling to sit up. The curved sides of the tub only impede her.

“Get up,” she commands him, still catching her breath.

The curtain jerks aside just as Arthur raises himself off of her and they both smile awkwardly up at the pair of women who’d jumped in fright.

“Sorry,” Arthur muttered. “Just testing the capacity. I don’t think it’s big enough for all three of us, darling,” he says to Gwen.

She shoots him a glare as they climb out of the tub and back onto the congested pathway.

“That could have been worse.”

“Yes, we could have scarred that woman and her daughter for life.”

He grins. “Come on, let’s go eat. I’ll buy you a slice of apple cake.”

“You’re going to eat it, anyway,” she says and lets him pull her along.

*

“I should call my dad, he’ll want to know.” She chews at her nails instead of the bowl of fruit salad in front of her.

“Guinevere,” Arthur chuckles, much more cheerful surrounded by the array of dishes he managed to grab before she caught him. There were at least three different cake slices he’d have to find room for after he finished the mountain of meatballs piled on his plate. “I’m sure it can wait until we leave the store. Maybe even until we sign the paperwork?”

She deflates. “Oh no, we have to sign paperwork. What if they change their minds before then?”

He gives a small smile and continues poking at his meatballs. Under the table, he traps her leg between his and immediately she ceases bouncing.

“Sorry,” she sighs. “You’re right.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he says, lifting a forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth.

She tilts her head. “I can hear you thinking.”

“Mmm, is that so?” He sets his fork down and leans to slide his palm up her calf. “What am I thinking now?”

“Something decidedly inappropriate for a family store,” she gently kicks him.

*

With full bellies, empty bladders, and the second best news of their lives making them giddy, they venture bravely onward to the kitchen showroom.

“Granite.”

“Quartz.”

“Granite,” he sing-songs.

“ _Quartz_ ,” Gwen insists. “It’s cheaper, more durable, less porous, and easier to clean.”

“But it’s so boring. Look at this one, it’s got freckles,” he drags his eyes from the countertop to beam at her. “Like you.”

“That’s not going to work on me,” she laughs. If her knees feel a little weak, she puts it down to all the walking they’ve done already. “Maybe we should skip to tables.”

They wander between the selections, each piece catering to a variety of functions and spaces.

“I thought you wanted to use the one from your father?” 

“For the dining room, yes. But I want a breakfast table for under the window.” She pauses as one catches her eye, smoothing her palms over the surface and leaning across to squint at the sign.

Arthur puts down the stack of fake books at the adjacent table and wanders over to investigate. “You mean…” He sneaks behind her and whispers in her ear, “Just for breakfast?”

Gwen yelps as he presses his hips into her arse and the table gives a little at the joints under their combined weight. She slaps his hands away from her waist and he snickers.

“This one will never do,” he says. “It’s too flimsy.”

She has to agree, deciding she’s not ready to discount the other convenient functions of a sturdy table.

A commotion interrupts their progress as customers descend over one of the display rooms, phones withdrawn from pockets and handbags, reaching over one another to snap pictures.

“I wonder what’s going on?” Arthur asks, lifting onto his toes to see over the crowd.

“What is it?”

“It’s… uh... a squirrel? I think there’s a squirrel trapped in there. How the hell did it get in?”

The incident draws more attention by the second as staff members frantically convene to contain the situation, and Gwen gives up on getting a decent view of whatever is going on. She folds her arms and glances around at the empty display rooms with amusement.

Arthur is just as enraptured when she tugs at his elbow. “Hang on, I want to see—”

“Arthur.”

Her tone wins his attention, and when he glimpses the look she’s giving him, he’s just as eager to sneak away.

“I’m so glad you wore this dress,” he says, immediately slipping his hands underneath when they find relative seclusion in a tightly engineered kitchen display.

She’s pinned to the counter by his hips, but time is short, so he kisses her roughly once before turning her around.

“Is this part of the celebrating?” she asks, breathless as he sinks to his knees behind her, tugging her knickers down in one fluid movement. Her insides are liquid—infernal—and she scrabbles at the countertop in vain for purchase when he nudges her legs further apart.

Gwen can just glimpse the edge of the crowd around the corner through her half-lidded eyes, the shoppers still captivated as someone brings over a decorative basket to try to trap the intruder with. 

“It’s required,” Arthur says from below her, the smirk plain in his voice. He doesn’t waste another second, pressing his face between her legs to swipe his tongue over her slit.

Gwen bites back her gasp. Her eyelids fly open as she struggles to keep a grip on their surroundings.

Straight ahead, on the opposite side of the island she leans against, is the vacant pathway. Surely not vacant for much longer. 

They were good at this—seizing the handful of free minutes in their busy schedules to get each other off, anywhere, any time. They’d had plenty of practice when Arthur was working overtime to get his company off the ground, and now that things had calmed for both of them, it was more opportunism than necessity.

That he was ready for this in the bathtub display only proved his arrogance—he likely wouldn’t have stopped if she hadn’t said anything. 

Now, stopping was the last thing she wants.

“Sweet…” she breathes as his hot tongue writhes against her folds and he spreads her apart with his hands.

She almost forgets to keep watch, until an employee jogs past without a second look. A few outliers are beginning to lose interest in the spectacle. _Borrowed luck_ is the only phrase that comes to mind, but her anxiety over being caught only heightens every sensation. She thinks they might get away with it as long as he stays crouched beneath her, but she knows it’s only a matter of moments before he loses his restraint.

Arthur also seems cognizant of their narrowing window of opportunity. Her thighs are trembling when he stands up again and tugs the back of her dress up over her arse.

 _Good man_ , she smiles to herself as he quickly—and silently—slips his hard length inside of her without so much as a jingle of his belt buckle. 

The few seconds before he starts thrusting are her favorite part. Her world narrows; she can feel all of him joined with her, her body tingling in anticipation before the first snap of his hips against her arse that pushes her into the solid lip of the counter.

Pleasure builds immediately; his ragged, restrained breaths punctuating the light jarring impact of each movement. The showroom is too bright around her, too exposed, and she fights against squeezing her eyes shut.

Her climax is already in sight when he wedges a hand between her legs. 

“Oh, _oh god_ —” she whimpers, pushing back with every thrust. Arthur is not far behind, his humping becoming erratic.

A smattering of applause floats from around the corner, and Gwen doesn’t have a spare thought to wonder what it means as her orgasm bowls her over.

Arthur buckles over her a few moments later with a groan, his elbow landing on the countertop beside hers as they catch their breath.

“Okay, granite,” she says as her eyes refocus on its polished surface. “I don’t mind this one.”

Arthur laughs.

Already, shoppers are defecting and drifting around the corner in twos and threes.

They both duck behind the island just as the first of them passes, and Gwen uses the opportunity to kick off her underwear, pressing it between her legs once before gesturing for her purse.

Arthur has barely pulled his pants back up. He slides her bag across the floor and pokes his head out while she slips on her change of underwear. Some things they’d learned the hard way, but now Gwen is always prepared.

Falling back onto their bottoms, they sit against the cabinetry for a few moments. 

“One of these days we’re going to be punished for recklessness.”

Arthur chuckles with her, rubbing an affectionate hand over her thigh before standing and helping her up. “We can have a more extended celebration when we get home.”

“I guess they caught the squirrel.” Gwen dusts herself off.

“Too bad we missed it,” says Arthur.

She smacks his shoulder as they find the pathway once more, slotting in behind a cluster of shoppers.

*

“Whoa, we’re almost to the end,” he stops suddenly when they exit the kitchen section.

“We still have the marketplace where all the junk is. Besides, did we even put anything on this list?” She frowns at the scribbles, forgetting which codes correspond to which items.

“Don’t forget that bookcase you wanted. We can have it delivered.”

“Surely not to the new house, just yet?” She couldn’t even say the words without a smile.

“Oh,” Arthur frowns. “We’ll have to work that out. I’ll call Nimueh on the way home and see if we can negotiate some storage in the meantime.”

“If you insist.”

They wander into the last section before the escalators, and Gwen finds Arthur’s hand when they pause on a colorful rug patterned with numbers.

“That one is perfect,” Arthur says after a moment.

Her heart constricts as he moves to caress the wooden railing, the soft blue blanket folded inside, and looks at her with a question in his eyes.

Gwen nods, still not accustomed to the swell of emotions primed to course through her changing body at a moment’s notice. “We’ll have to get the matching mobile.”


End file.
